


The Man and the Tree

by Rarae



Category: Original Work
Genre: 32 lines, A man and a tree, Gen, Happy Ending, This didn't turn out at all like I intended, Together in Death, abab rhyme scheme, and how they grow and die, but I still really like it, poem, this was meant to be a sonnet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarae/pseuds/Rarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight this sounds like the man and tree were dating</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man and the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be based on this quote from Anatole France: All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we must leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
> 
> It didn't. The tree was supposed to be cut down by an old lady so she could see the view of the mountains from her house and she comes to regret it, but be happy in the end because she has her mountain view..... But that clearly didn't happen.
> 
> I can't say I regret it though.

A gnarled, scarred, knobby, and bent old tree,  
Crippled, yet standing proud, though burdened by years,  
On mountain top, he observed man's history;  
Day by day, he watched grains fall to shears  
As babes were born and wizened men die.  
One such yellowed man became the first to come  
To where the then young sap stands, strong and high,  
Away from sharpened iron axes and men's scum.  
The wrinkled croon constructs his common home  
Just behind where the tree observes his village.  
Together they sat, above mortal thoughts, alone  
In their minds as leaves fell in annual pillage.  
But, just as all leaves must turn and fade,  
Man must one day return to the dusty ground.  
At trunk's base, crowned in grass, the man's head was laid.  
The tree bent and wept nature's grieving sound.  
The pale moon waxes and wanes; the sun dawns  
And dusks; the wizened old oak grows and bends.  
Whiskers of moss, green and gray, make an elder lawn,  
Until one noon, up the mountain climb more men,  
Wearing knives and nets and callous iron axes.  
They stare at the ancient and wise old oak  
And then then they swing and thrash, leaving bloody tracks.  
With a pained groan, the gnarled old tree fell, smote  
By the designs of boys and children's wiles.  
His leafy locks were shorn and his limbs broken.  
He lay upon a crown of grass- and smiles?  
Fallen to a bed of dirt and broken bark,  
Relief enshrined in knobbed wooden features,  
Last breath exhaled, as he tree lays to rest.  
Together once more, sleep the sullen creatures,  
One to two now rest, robed as one, chest to chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! (Kudos?)


End file.
